


Men and Dragons and Zombies

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Series: Barduil [6]
Category: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Jane Austen & Seth Grahame-Smith, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil Interpretation Day, There needed to be funny to combat the angsty everyone else was doing omfg, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:37:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thorin, don’t you tempt me! I warned your grandfather what would happen! But he didn’t listen!” the zombie in question merely growls at Thranduil and ambles off to get stuck in Ironfoot’s garden, where he belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Men and Dragons and Zombies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Barduil Interpretation Day: Zombie Apocalypse Au. I've chosen to set mine in the universe of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, but it in no way follows that story line. :)

None of them really remember how it happened, or whether it was ever known how it happened in the first place. Not even Old Oropher and his children, who seem to remember and know everything that happens in Rhovanion. If you ask the youngest of the children, all grown up now, she’ll simply tell you that one day the inanimate dead became the not so inanimate dead, and things just spiraled from there.

Somewhere along the way, Old Oropher and his eldest child joined their not so inanimate kin, and his estate passed on to his second born son, Thranduil. It is Thranduil whose story we follow.

* * *

“Thorin. I swear upon my father, banging against the shed door, if you don’t get out of my garden this instant, I’m putting you back in the ground!” we find the star of our story yelling out the second story window to the zombie in the garden. “Thorin, don’t you tempt me! I warned your grandfather what would happen! But he didn’t listen!” the zombie in question merely growls at Thranduil and ambles off to get stuck in Ironfoot’s garden, where he belongs. After all, it was Dain who refused to nail Thorin’s coffin closed. The fool deserves it.

“Thranduil, please stop yelling insults at the Unmentionables.” Taeglin, Thranduil’s twin sister, yells from down the hall.

“I’m not insulting them.” Thranduil calls back, shutting the window and returning to his desk. He hears his sister’s footsteps in the hall and looks to the door as it is shoved open.

“Stop yelling at them, then. Anyway. I’m going out. Don’t wait up.” He gives her an appraisingly look, satisfied by the sword sheathed at her hip and the musket held in her hand.

“Watch out for Unmentionables. And maybe bring back something to feed ada and Galen.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Taeglin replies, as she takes her leave. Thranduil, our beloved hero, turns to his accounts. Sometime later he is distracted by a crash out in the garden.

“That blasted Thorin better not be in my garden again!” he exclaims, climbing to his feet and rushing to the window. But when he looks into the garden, it is not Thorin he finds messing up his beautiful flowers. But a man he has not met before facing off against Old Smaug, who the man surely must have awoken. For Old Smaug had not deigned to leave his coffin in nigh on ten years now. Thranduil sighs heavily and pushes the window open. “He has a weak hip, clip him and he’ll fall, then cut his head off.”

“I have nothing to chop his head off with!” the man yells back, dodging a lunge by the zombie.

“What are you doing outside, you fool?” Thranduil exclaims, shaking his head. “There’s a spade by the front door, use it.” Thranduil says, before closing the window and making his way down to the entrance way. All the while hearing the growls and grunts of the two fighting outside. He opens the front door just in time to see the man decapitate Old Smaug with the garden spade. “Nice form. Could use a bit of work.” Thranduil says, unimpressed. “Now would you come inside before you get yourself killed?! I think I have an old sword lying around somewhere that you can borrow until you get your own.” Thranduil mutters, spinning on his heel and heading back into the house, leaving the door open for the man.

“Uh.” The man glances down at the shovel in his hand and the decapitated zombie at his feet. “I’ll just leave this here…” he says, putting the spade down and following Thranduil into the house, closing the door behind him.

“Well, at least you haven’t entirely lost your mind.” Thranduil comments, “I had a friend once, couldn’t remember to close the door for the life of him.” Thranduil says, as if that’s all the explanation he needs to give, and in a way, it is. “Now, would you like to tell me –come this way- why you would be fool enough to leave the house without a sword?” Thranduil asks, guiding the man to the armoury.

“Uh. My daughter has it, and I needed something from the market here.”

“Goodness. It must be important if you’d risk your life for it.” Thranduil replies, before a scowl forms on his face at a loud commotion back the way they’ve come. “Legolas, if you’ve brought more zombies back here, you know I’m not going to be happy!” he calls, without stopping or turning around.

“Sorry, father! They followed us home!! Tauriel and Feren are getting rid of them.” Legolas calls back, “Also, are you aware Old Smaug’s decapitated in your garden? Doesn’t look like your work.”

“It’s not. I’ll explain later.” Thranduil yells, ushering the man through a door. “Tidy up, would you?”

“Of course.” Legolas answers, before Thranduil closes the door and the sound of the fighting dies away.

“Sorry about that, my children are home.” Thranduil says to the man, before leading him through what appears to be an armoury fit for a king’s army. “Now, what would you like?” Thranduil asks, before realizing something important. “Oh, goodness. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. Lord Thranduil Oropherion, at your service.”

“Uh, Bard Bowman, at yours.” The man replies, inclining his head slightly.

“Bard Bowman?” Thranduil asks, eyes widening. “The human from the settlement upon the lake?”

“Er, yes?” Bard answers, a little put out that Thranduil knows him.

“Why would a renowned fighter of the Unmentionables, such as yourself, be caught almost dead leaving the house without a weapon?” Thranduil asks, perplexed.

“My daughter needed it, like I said. We don’t truly have much to go around on the settlement.” Bard says with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Mostly we just push the Zombies into the water, they can’t swim, and in the winter they freeze.”

“Ah. Well, take your pick.” Thranduil says, indicating the weapons around the room. “You can probably grab something for your children as well, I suppose. I mean, I don’t need everything in here.”

“How did you get all of this?” Bard asks, staring at all the weapons in awe, he’s never seen so many in his life.

“Some of them were my father’s, some of them were my brother’s. Most of them are family heirlooms, I guess. I’ve never really thought about it.” Thranduil answers, looking around the room. “I guess there are quite a lot of them, huh?”

“That is an understatement, my lord.” Bard answers, “You truly have no issue with lending me a weapon?”

“Weapons, plural, and, oh, you can keep them. I have no use for them.”

“I cannot accept that.”

“Yes you can. Consider it a reward for taking out Old Smaug. The old bugger was the most annoying creature, but it seemed cruel to kill him when all he did was slumber in his coffin, and snore very loudly. He was like a dragon.” Thranduil says, smiling at the prospect of no longer having to throw things out the window at Old Smaug whenever the zombie got too noisy in the night. “There you are, Bard. My thanks for slaying the dragon.” Thranduil smirks, Bard stares at him perplexed before turning back to the weapons, and finally making his choice of a long bow. “Very nice choice, I prefer the bow to guns, as well. I like how it sings.”

Bard doesn’t reply, merely glancing over the other weapons and taking down a very delicate looking sword.

“Oh.” Thranduil exclaims, reaching forward and claiming the sword back. “N-not this one.” He says, carefully placing the sword back on its stand. “That one belonged to my wife.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Bard apologizes, something in his voice catching Thranduil’s attention, and Thranduil recognizes a kindred spirit.

“No, it’s-it’s alright, I’d just forgotten this was here. One of my children must have- never mind.” Thranduil says, shaking his head. “Carry on.” Bard does so, pausing when there’s a knock at the door.

“Ada,” Legolas calls, pushing the door open slightly and peering inside. “We cleaned up the front garden, we’re going to a party tonight, and we won’t be home until late. Will you be able to manage without us?” Legolas asks, staring curiously at Bard.

“Of course, Legolas. You children have fun, and be careful. Look out for Feren.”

“I know, ada.” Legolas says, rolling his eyes, “I know.” He slips back out of the room and closes the door, clearly not wishing to intrude on his father any further.

“Come along now, Bard, we don’t have all day.” Thranduil nags, turning back to Bard.

“Right.”

* * *

 

In the end, Bard selects two beautifully crafted swords, engraved with symbols he cannot read, and Thranduil refuses to, and three similarly beautiful daggers, and arrows to go along with his bow.

“I’ll help you home.” Thranduil states when Bard has made his selections and they’ve made pointless small talk enough to satisfy the both of them.

“I don’t need an escort, my lord.” Bard says, frowning.

“Perhaps not, but I’d like to see the state of Laketown, and it has been a long time since I’ve chosen to leave this house of my own will.”

“Very well, it wouldn’t hurt to have a companion.” Bard accepts, not wholly begrudging. “The Unmentionables are out in the force on the road this time of year.”

“Excellent. We might even have you home in time for dinner."

"Of course," Bard says, smiling, "My children are attending a party this evening, so I'll be eating dinner whenever I get around to cooking it." 

"In that case, why don't you stay for dinner, Master Bowman, and we can have you back home afterwards?" Bard frowns at the offer, it would be nice to spend time with people who weren't his children again. 

"Yes, alright."

* * *

 

Dinner, as it happens, turns out to be a wondrous occasion, our dear Thranduil is a wonderful cook, you understand, and he knows how to set a scene, stopping just short of turning the evening into a romantic candle lit dinner. He comes very close. Entertainment for the meal comes in the form of Thranduil's father banging on the backdoor midway through the meal, which is always exciting. 

"Excuse me." Thranduil says, smiling politely at Bard when the banging begins. "That'll be my father, getting lose of his pen, again." he says, getting to his feet and disappearing through a set of double doors. Bard watches after him expectantly, smiling a little when he hears the other man begin shouting. "Father," he hears, "I am trying to enjoy a lovely meal with a guest. You know I never have guests. Please go back into your pen. Taeglin will be home with food for you later." the banging increases, and Bard snickers at the reply from the other man. "Look, Galen, don't you start. I do not have time for this. I'll put you both in the ground, I will. I'll do it." Bard's attention is drawn away as he hears a loud bang, signifying someone has slammed the front door. 

"Ugh, the Unmentionables are out in force tonight." A feminine voice yells from the hallway, heading towards the dining room. "Thranduil?" the doors into the dining room swing open and a woman steps through, she's Thranduil's spitting image, only her features a slightly more rounder and feminine. In her hand is a brown satchel, its leather shoulder strap dragging on the floor. Her starlight eyes land on Bard and she pauses. "Oh. Hello, sorry, I didn't meant to interrupt. I was looking for my brother." she says, smiling politely at Bard. Who nods his head in greeting before pointing to the double doors where Thranduil can still be heard yelling at his not so inanimate dead family members. "Ah. I'll go rescue him shall I?" she asks, amused. "I'm Lady Taeglin Oropheriel, by the by." she admits, as she crosses the room to the other doors. 

"Bard Bowman." 

"Of course you are." Taeglin smirks, rolling her eyes. "Of course." she disappears through the doors before Bard can ask her what she means by that. 

"Oh, look, ada! Taeglin's home! Now you can stop this nonsense!" Thranduil can be heard yelling, and Bard starts laughing. He;s smiling widely when Thranduil returns, looking harried. "I apologize." Thranduil says, as he resumes his seat. 

"No, no, it's quite alright." Bard replies, laughing softly. Thranduil frowns at him, before a small smile forms on his face. 

"Unmentionables aren't a laughing matter, you know." Thranduil says, attempting to sound stern, but falling quite short. 

"Of course they're not. I never said they were." Bard says, his smile fading slightly. 

"Oh. Well, good, then. I suppose." 

"Right." Bard answers, before sharing a look with Thranduil.

"Oh! Ada, stop stealing Galen's food! You're a horrible father, I tell you!" they hear Taeglin yelling through the doors, and the two of them burst out laughing. 

And it was the start of something beautiful. _And- hey, Thorin, hey, get out of my garden. Thorin, stop. Thorin!_

**And they lived happily ever after.**

_Oh, Bard, you can't say that. It's sappy._

**It is no more sappy than 'and it was the start of something beautiful.'**

_I'll have you know, that is a very respectable ending._

**Oh, go and yell at Thorin. He's messing up your roses.**

_MY ROSES!_

**And all was not right in the world, but one day it might be.**

The End.

_Oh, who are you kidding? It's not the end till Thorin's dust in the ground!_

**Thran. Please. We need to end this somewhere.**

_Oh, alright But I want it on record that until Thorin is dust in the ground, this isn't over._

**Yes, alright, fine.**

_Good._

The End. 

_But not really._

**Thran!**

The End. 

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, basically, Thranduil is narrating the story of his and Bard's meeting, and his ending gets interrupted by Zombie Thorin trampling through the garden (because it is a true story for this verse). At which point, Bard takes over the narration, in bold. I wasn't sure how to make that more clearer in the fic. Oop.


End file.
